Proving a Point
by Red Jester
Summary: Murphy can take care of himself. slash


Murphy started laughing. Not a deep belly-laugh, but the higher giggle that he reserved for times when he was truly proud of himself. The victim of his prank was currently swearing a blue streak and trying to stand up amidst the chair Murphy had rigged to collapse.

"Fuckin' 'ell, Murph!" Connor yelled, lunging for his brother. "Ya fuckin' bastard!"

Murphy took his brother's hit and ended up flat on his ass on the apartment floor, still trying to cackle while regaining his breath. "You shoulda seen your fuckin' face, man," he gasped out, trying to mimic his twin's facial expression. "And if I'm a fuckin' bastard then so are you."

Connor kicked his brother's leg, but there was a little softness at the corners of his eyes. "Shut it and get up. I wanna get to Doc's before last call."

An impish smile spread across Murphy's face as he held his hand up in a plea for help up. A "Fuck you." was all he got as Connor turned to go retrieve his boots from the rubble of the kitchen chair. The dark-haired man chuckled and bounced to his feet. He knew he ought to stop the teasing now before his brother was truly pissed off, because that would mean Connor would avoid him until he was absolutely pissing drunk at the pub tonight. He knew it. Really he did.

"Oi, Con, you remember that summer we spent in Cork?"

"Aye," Connor responded without thinking, distracted by tying his first boot. "I fuckin' love Cork."

Murphy howled with laughter, and it took only a moment for Conner to remember his Irish accent made the word "Cork" sound like "cock." Before Murphy realized it there was a boot flying at his head. It hit him hard on the side of his face, but he couldn't stop laughing.

Without a word, Connor retrieved his boot, slammed his foot into it, and, without even bothering to tie the laces, stalked out the door after a quick snatch for his rosary.

Murphy's laughter ebbed as the faulty door slammed and then clicked back open a bit. He knew Connor wasn't mad about what Murphy'd made him say, but was pissed at the fact that Murphy tricked him into saying it almost once a week, always with a different lead-in line. Murphy paused to sigh with a bit of regret at having earned himself a night of drinking without his twin before he started the search for his own boots.

The atmosphere in McGinty's was comfortable, albeit smokey, and Connor was enjoying talking with some of the other regulars while slowly getting completely pissed. He occasionally caught sight of his brother down at the other end of the bar, and had to shake his head. He wasn't angry anymore. He'd gotten over his brother's antics by the time he'd exited the doors of their apartment building. But he had to teach the man some respect, didn't he? And he knew how much Murphy hated to get drunk without his twin there to tease.

A few hours later, when the pub was nearly empty, Connor finally made up his mind to go grab the stool next to his brother. He stood, with only a slight sway, and was almost to Murphy when the front doors of the bar opened. Five large men walked in and straight over to Rocco, grabbing him roughly by the hair.

Rocco was yelling something, holding up his hands submissively, and Conner heard the word "money."

"This idiot owe you money?" Connor asked, walking up to the men and feeling Murphy moving to his side.

One of the men holding Rocco looked the two men in front of him up and down. "It's not your business, Irishmen."

Murphy snorted and stated simply, "But it is our business."

"Look," Connor pulled out his wallet, "How much does he owe? My brother and I can make a down payment to show good faith."

The large man yanked hard on Rocco's hair. "I don't want Irish money. I want him."

Another man's fist flew into Rocco's stomach, and it started. The twins were flying into the brawl with whoops of excitement, and the men were hard-pressed to get their defenses up in time. Murphy took two, Connor took two, and they left the last one for Rocco to try and prove himself with.

It was a hard fight. The men were built like walls, but Connor's speed and creativity worked strongly to his advantage. He also found a helpful new way to use the sign directing patrons to the bathrooms. As his last man fell, he turned to comment to Murphy about it and felt his stomach drop out.

His eyes zoomed in immediately on the sight of his twin being repeatedly punched in the stomach, and sometimes in the face, while the man that was supposed to be Rocco's held him firm. Connor was on them before he even realized he'd crossed the room. As soon as Murphy was free he began to wail maniacally on the man who'd been giving him a beating while Connor took Rocco's man.

Connor caught sight of Rocco laying limp on the floor, but not looking dead, and he snorted as he threw another punch. One of these day's they'd have to teach the Italian to fight. Or at least give him a helmet or something. With one last slam of his opponent's head into the wall, the man crumpled to the ground, and Connor turned to scan the room for his brother once more, finding him immediately.

Murphy was standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving, and glaring at him fit to kill. "What the fuck was that?" he ground out.

"That was a fight," Connor answered lightly, confused at the rage on his brother's face.

"No." Murphy gestured to where Connor had pulled the men off him. "That."

Conner cocked his head slightly. "Well I was savin' ya, wasn't I?"

Against the laws of possibility, Murphy's glare grew stronger. "What the fuck?" he said quietly. Then, yelling, "What the FUCK! I'm not your fuckin' little sister! I don't need you fuckin' runnin' in to save my ass because you fuckin' think I need help! If I'm not fuckin' passed out or have a gun in my face, then I don't fuckin' need your help! I can take care of myself!"

Chest still heaving, but now with anger more than fatigue, Murphy made his way out the door.

Connor, confusion still playing on his face, looked across the room at Doc. "The fuck was that?"

Doc shrugged. "Next time you b-b-b-boys start s-something in here, d'ya think yo-y-you... ah, just fucking clean up after yourselves next time."

With a nod, Connor made his way for the door, hoping his brother would be less angry when he got to the apartment.

He'd been back at the apartment for two hours, and Murphy was still not home. Connor had given up trying all activities except pacing. When he thought about it, he understood where his brother was coming from, how much stock they both put in their reputations, but fuck all if he was just going to stand there and watch Murphy get pummeled. Fuck that.

And there was no fucking way Murph could have broken out of that man's hold back at the pub. Not while somebody else was beating the shit out of him. It was bullshit. His brother's stupid bravado was going to get him killed one of these days, and fuck it if Connor would speak at his funeral. He'd be in the box right next to him.

He had just worked himself into a right good rage when he heard the door click open.

Murphy started for the apartment when he left the pub, but changed his mind halfway there and decided to detour to the river. He pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips to light it, but when his hand brushed his cheek and felt something sticky he stopped. He figured he looked a fucking mess. Those fucking bastards hadn't pulled any punches.

Finishing lighting his cigarette, he started walking again, praying quickly that he wouldn't run into any cops. One look at his state, and they'd arrest him on the spot. That was the last thing he needed tonight.

Normally he would go straight back to the apartment after a fight, but he knew Connor would be there by now and he really didn't feel like repeating his performance in the pub. Fuckin' Connor. He knew, they both knew deep down really, who was older, but that didn't mean his brother had to treat him like he was fucking fragile or something because of it. What's a few minutes on age? Fuckin' nothing. But Connor still sometimes fell into this role of treating Murphy like a child. Like Murphy couldn't take care of himself.

He thought back to the fight earlier that night and cringed. He had been in a tight spot tonight, and he could at least admit that to himself if not to anyone else. That admission made the whole ordeal sting even more. What if he did need protection? What if he deserved it every time Connor slapped his arm and told him to knock it off?

Fuck that. Connor just needed to be taught some respect.

Murphy spun on his heel and headed back toward the apartment.

Connor snapped his head to look at the doorway as his brother entered. Murphy looked like shit. His right eye was darkening, and there was a smear of blood down the left side of his face where it looked like the man's ring had sliced through his skin. Connor's rage was immediately forgotten, and he moved toward his brother to help clean him up.

"Fuck you, Connor."

That stopped the blond Irishman in his tracks, and he dropped the arm that had been reaching toward his brother. "Murph, I"

Murphy cut him off. "No, Connor, don't. Don't take care of me. I'm fuckin' sick of it. I don't understand why you fuckin' insist on... on... taking care of me all the fuckin' time. Like I can't do it myself."

Feeling some of the rage build again, Connor took a step forward, invading his brother's personal space. "You're a fuckin' moron."

"Thanks," Murphy shoved past his brother. "That clears it all up, then. But, funny, I don't fuckin' remember being sent to a special school. I'm you're fuckin' twin! I can take care of myself."

"I meant the fact that you even had to ask that question makes you a moron." Connor reached for a cigarette. "Yes, you're my fuckin' twin. And I love you more than fuckin' anything. I don't want to not take care of you for one day and find you fuckin' dead!" The cigarette was still in his hand, unlit, and he'd started pacing again with his back to Murphy. "You're mine, Murph, and I'm not fuckin' lettin' the Lord have you until it's unavoidable. And then I'll be going with you, right by your side."

Connor felt a hand grip his shoulder, and he was wrenched around the face his brother. And suddenly Murphy was kissing him hard, no hand as a barrier between their lips. It was just him and his twin, and he found himself clutching Murphy desperately and pouring his fears into that kiss.

Murphy broke away harshly and narrowed his eyes at his brother. "That's what this has all been about?"

Connor nodded, unsure of how to interpret the kiss.

"Well fuck then. I can handle that." His mouth quirked up in a grin before he added warningly, "But only when it's necessary."

Connor nodded again as his brother released his grip and moved to step back only to find Connor still gripping him.

"Con?"

Connor's grip tightened. "My turn to ask you, brother. What the fuck was that?"

A confused look flitted across Murphy's face that Conner could see straight through. "What? I've kissed you before, haven't I?"

"Never on the lips, Murph." Connor sighed.

Authentic panic skirted into Murphy's eyes. "Do we have to talk about this tonight? On top of everything else?"

"Yes we fuckin' have to talk about this tonight! What the fuck is going on in that head of yours today, Murphy?"

The panic was replaced with sadness and a longing that Connor knew how to interpret without his brother saying a word. Which was exactly what Murphy was doing. Not saying one fucking word.

Which left it to Connor to say. He leaned in and kissed Murphy gently, washing away the taste of the more forceful crush earlier. He felt his brother's hands move to his back and pull him closer.

When they drifted apart Murphy was studying his twin's face. "You do realize it's a sin, brother."

Connor was silent for a moment, contemplating, before he answered, "Love is never a sin, Murphy."

And suddenly Murphy was tugging him towards the nearest bed, his impish grin back in place along with his boundless energy.

"Fuck, Murph, what" Was all Connor was able to grind out before he was tossed mostly onto the bed and found himself looking up at his brother. And he knew that expression. Murphy was planning mischief.

"Hold up, Murph, what" And he was cut off again as his brother was suddenly on top of him, holding his body above Conner so that no part of them touched except their lips. Connor groaned softly and pressed his hands onto Murphy's back, trying to pull his body down to him. But Murphy was having none of it.

Instead, he sat back on his heels, resting his weight on Connor's stomach, and pulled his own shirt up over his head. Connor only had an instant to look at the tattooed skin with new eyes before Murphy was leaning down to kiss him again.

Then he was being pulled into a sitting position, and his own shirt was inched slowly up his torso while Murphy watched appreciatively. And fuck it if Connor didn't want to see that look on his brother's face for the rest of his life. And fuck it if any doubt he'd had fled his mind. He'd had dreams of sex with Murphy before, he assumed every sibling had them, but this... This was beyond dreaming. He was just about to reach out and wipe some of the blood off his brother's face so he could see it better when his sight was blocked as his shirt was pulled over his head, and he was shoved back onto the old mattress.

This time Murphy lay down flush on his body as he kissed Connor, and the blond arched up as their erections touched through their jeans. This kiss was drawn out as Murphy's hips just barely twitched above his own, obviously involuntary movements that his brother couldn't control.

And then Murphy was off of him again, hands going immediately to his own belt, buttons, and zipper. Connor started to sit up, "Murph, we have all night. We don't" and Murphy's hand was on his chest, shoving him back to the mattress.

"Connor, shut the fuck up. You want proof that I can take care of myself? I'll fuckin' prove it."

As Murphy's jeans and boxers slid over his hip bones and down his thighs, Conner vowed to shut the fuck up. Whatever it took.

As soon as his own garments were off, Murphy moved immediately to his brothers, hitching his hips off the bed with no help and sliding them down and off.

Connor heard his clothing hitting the floor, but it couldn't penetrate his mind through the sight of Murphy kneeling between his legs with the hardest erection Connor had ever seen him with. He tore his gaze from his brother's groin and searched out his face only to find Murphy staring at him in much the same way, and when their eyes met something snapped.

Murphy was lying back on top of him in a second. He was sliding their erections together desperately while Connor tried to pull his body closer with a force fit to crack a rib. Suddenly Connor didn't even have the brain power to kiss anymore. Simply enough to toss his head back and pant out small involuntary noises. And Murphy's mouth was on his shoulder, alternately kissing and clamping down with teeth.

Connor lost it first with a silent scream, and Murphy followed, pressing down into the body arching up underneath him.

They lay there bonelessly for what felt like days before Connor mumbled, "I fuckin' love Cork."

End

AN: The "Cork" joke was inspired by a night my friends and I spent wandering around Cork and asking natives if they liked Cork. The best was a drunk man on the street who howled at the sky, "I love Cork!" I wasn't planning for the joke to be in this story, but my Murphy muse apparently found it amusing.

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